As he entered the Raven, Vachon ran his long fingers through his hair, his pallid skin a marked contrast to the darkness of his tresses. The vampire's eyes fell immediately on the only one in the quiet club, before taking in the boxes and bags which littered the bar.
"Urs, what's ... going on?"
"A party! Are you coming?" the pretty blonde inquired hopefully, as she reached for another black 'Over The Hill' balloon.
"I don't know.... What's the occasion?" Vachon asked, glancing casually behind the bar, which he now leaned against in hopes of finding an easily-procured (i.e., free) glass of blood, but not finding one.
"It's LaCroix's birthday! He's going to be ... well, old!" Urs said with a slight smile.
"Urs, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but" -- Vachon dropped his voice to a whisper -- "he's already old."
Urs rolled her eyes at the still young-looking Spaniard's attempted humor as he picked up one of the latex balloons and absently began toying with it.
"Are you going to have streamers, too?" Vachon asked. The young vampiress nodded indulgently at her master, as she continued to puff into the balloon. Vachon narrowed his eyes before adding, "And a lovely-little-mortal popping out of a cake for the greezer's dining pleasure?"
"Vachon!" Urs frowned, striking him solidly on the arm with the now-inflated balloon.
"What? You know that's how the night's gonna end. What's a vampire-birthday, especially at his age , without a good dose of fresh-from-the-neck human blood? You hate what we are, Urs -- what we have to do to survive -- so why would you encourage this? And, for that matter, why would you encourage him?"
"So, that's what this is about? You're jealous," she smirked, but only slightly as she was still insecure, even after a hundred years, about exactly where she stood with Vachon. Urs knew he cared, but she never knew how much, or when he might show it.
"Jealous? Of him?!" Vachon quirked a wry grin, almost laughing out loud at the idea. "I wouldn't trade places with that old fart for anything in the world! You think Nick Knight's got problems?" Vachon let out an exasperated breath as he shook his head at Urs's naiveté. "Trust me, Knight learned from the best!"
Urs set her deflated balloon down on the bar. "But he's been kind to me."
"Yeah, but for whose benefit? Not yours. His world doesn't extend much beyond himself and his prodigal son." Vachon paused, lifting his eyebrows as if waiting for her to agree. Urs remained silent, torn, and maybe even disappointed, but in whom she did not know: LaCroix? Vachon? Herself? "If he's been kind, Urs," Vachon finally continued, "it's only because he's expecting something in return. You should know that by now."
The woman hung her blonde head, no longer excited about the prospect of a party. Vachon gently placed a finger under her chin, slowly stroking the smooth, cool skin. "Come on. Let's blow this place and have some real fun."
Urs looked up at him then, wondering what he had in mind. She found her master's smile was light again, the way she liked it -- full of teeth and dimples, and a bit of mischief.
"I know this club ... there's this new swing band playing there tonight. Wouldn't you like to go dancing?" His dark eyes sparkled as he continued to smile at her. "Come on, I haven't seen you Jitterbug in decades."
Urs's heart leapt as she took his proffered hand. Then the pair headed for the door, with the Raven, the party, and most of all LaCroix, suddenly far from all thought.